


Childish Things

by blue_wo1f



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: 3 things + 1 fic, Cell phone hacking, M/M, Mike is silly, Spaghettios, They Might Be Giants - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wo1f/pseuds/blue_wo1f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Mike is ridiculous and immature (and one time Harvey is, too). Or, what happens when the author gets songs stuck in her head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish Things

_When I was a child, I spoke like a child; thought like a child; felt like a child. Now that I have become a man, I have put away childish things. (But I unpacked most of them when I got there.)_ – Matt Boyd & Ian McConville, [Mac Hall](http://www.machall.com/index.php)

1.

The first time was when Harvey had stopped by Mike’s apartment to pick him up. They had a client meeting first thing, and rather than meet up at the office and risk being late, Harvey had decided that it would probably be best if he just picked Mike up from home.

He knocked, and the door swung open a minute later, revealing a mostly dressed but rumpled Mike holding a spoon in one hand and a bowl of red something in the other. He was barefoot. Harvey sighed.

“I thought I told you to be ready to go by the time I got here?”

Mike swallowed his mouthful of whatever was in the bowl, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, see, that would be a lot easier of you had actually told me what time that would be,” he said, glaring petulantly at Harvey even as he moved back from the door so the older man could enter.  “And anyway, Ray has, like, driving-navigation superpowers. Meeting’s at eight, right? So I have a minute. Lemme find my shoes.”

He put the bowl down on the counter, slipping off into the other room. Harvey glanced around the small apartment, wrinkling his nose a bit at the clutter. (Would it kill the kid to straighten things up every now and then?) Mike returned a couple minutes later, shoes on and tightening the knot of one of his stupid skinny ties, then picked the bowl back up and shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

“You want anything?” he asked around the mouthful.  “I think I have some orange juice in the fridge- what?” Harvey’s eyes had fallen to the bowl in his hand, his expression something between amusement and disgust.

“…Are those Spaghetti-Os?”

Mike glanced down at the bowl then back up at Harvey. “…Yes?” he replied, slowly.

“Seriously? What are you, twelve? And who the hell eats Spaghetti-Os for breakfast?”

Mike swallowed again, glare back in place. “Hey, I don’t criticize your ridiculously sweet coffees or those weird protein shake things you bring in!”

“My coffees are awesome, thank you. And my ‘weird shake things’ happen to be very healthy, which is more than can be said for your childish can of processed mush.”

“Spaghetti-Os are totally healthy! They’re like, an entire serving of vegetables! Or something.”

“Seriously?” Harvey said again. “Don’t believe everything you read on the can, rookie. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

He snatched the bowl out of Mike’s hands, dumping it unceremoniously in the sink, then grabbed Mike by the elbow and towed him out of the apartment.

“Harvey! Dude, I wasn’t done with that! Hey!”

“Shut up, Mike. I’ll buy you a goddamn muffin on the way.”

***

2.

The second time was in the office. In Mike’s defense, he had been up for over twenty-four hours looking over contracts for Harvey. Precedent had already proved that Mike got weird when sleep-deprived.

But never so outright annoying.

He was on the couch in Harvey’s office, half-buried in paper, highlighter in hand and earphones on. This was fine. Harvey didn’t mind this. What he did mind was when Mike started humming along to whatever he was listening to.

Harvey gritted his teeth, managing to ignore his associate’s humming. But when that turned into a mumbled stream of “do do dooo ba doo…” with the occasional accompanying highlighter drum solo, he found he couldn’t tune Mike out anymore.

So he snapped, “Mike!” fully expecting the usual startled jump and deer-in-headlights look.

What he got was an absent, “Hmm?” and Mike finishing the page he was looking at (which, admittedly, was fine) before looking up at Harvey.

“Stop humming.” And that should have been the end of it.

Except that Mike was clearly not in full control of his faculties, because instead he flashed Harvey a _mischievous grin_ , which was not fearful or contrite in the least, and said, “Istanbul, not Constantinople.”

Harvey stared at him, not immediately making the connection. “What?”

 _“Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople.”_

“No. Mike.”

 _“Been a long time gone, Constantinople.”_

“I swear to God, Mike-“

 _“Now it’s Turkish delight, on a moonlit night.”_

“Is there some actual progress you’ve made, or are you just here to keep me from making any?” Harvey ground out.

“Oh yeah, here. There’s a massive loophole on page two-twenty-eight.” Mike handed him the page in question.

Harvey hmm’ed speculatively as he read it. There was, indeed, a massive loophole on page two-twenty-eight.

“This is good.”

“Ye _p_ ,” Mike said, popping the P. “You know what’s funny though?”

Harvey looked up warily. “What?”

 _“Even old New York was once New Amsterdam.”_

“Get out. Right now.”

 _“Why they changed it I can’t say-“_

“Michael!” (But he was, at least, moving toward the door.)

 _“People just liked it better that waaayyyyyyyy!”_

Mike exited with a theatrical spin and slide-step. Harvey pretended not to see Donna shaking with silent laughter outside. Of course she’d heard the entire thing through the intercom.

The stupid song was stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

***

3.

There were certain things that Harvey considered sacred. His signed basketballs, most of his record collection, his personal laptop. His cellphone. (A certain associate.) It was something he expected people to recognize and respect: that those things were _his_ and people had better not _goddamn touch them_ without permission.

He had no idea when it happened. He had no idea how it _could_ have happened, but at some point someone (he _does_ have a fair idea who) had not only nicked his phone, but had then gone through it and _changed all the settings._ Harvey was less than pleased.

So Harvey spent the next hour meticulously going through and changing everything back. Then he tried to open the menu to look at his ringtone options and fix any damage done there only to find that… he couldn’t. The menu was locked. That wasn’t even a goddamn option, to password lock a goddamn menu; and yet there the hateful little box was, requesting one.

He spent the next fifteen minutes trying various words and phrases ( _harvardlaw_ failed, as did _pearsonhardman_ and all the legal terms he could think of). He was in the process of typing in _myassociatesucks_ (more out of spiteful frustration than any hope of it actually working) when the phone started ringing. The ID screen read Mike Ross, but even if it hadn’t, Harvey would have unfortunately known who it was.

Because his phone was merrily belting out a MIDIfied copy of that stupid, annoying, _goddamn_ Istanbul song. He jammed the button to answer and snarled, “Michael, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me how to fix my phone _you will regret it.”_

But Mike responded with a cheerful, “Good morning to you too, Harvey! What’s wrong with your phone?”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t even try it, kid. Tell me how to unlock my ringtone settings. _Now_.”

This threatening, growly tone usually did wonders to get Mike to do what he wanted. Mike, however, seemed to be in another of his impish, immature moods, (or maybe he just had a death wish) because he only laughed.

“But don’t you want to see what I set everyone else’s to?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun at all,” Mike’s tone was petulant. Then he heaved a longsuffering sigh and said, “ _Fine_. I’ll do it. Give me five minutes to get to your office.” He hung up.

Harvey pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in disgruntled incredulity because Mike had just _hung up on him_.

True to his word, Mike walked through to doors of Harvey’s office five minutes later. He was wearing one of Harvey’s ties.

It turned out that Mike was rather good at issuing ultimatums. Harvey was given the option of having his phone fixed right then, or having Mike do it at Harvey’s apartment later. The latter option came with the added bonus of being able to take his tie (and everything else) off of Mike. Harvey, after weighing both options, wisely chose the latter.

(Mike didn’t actually get around to unlocking his phone until the next morning. The password ended up being _mikeandlolarule_. Harvey was not amused.)

***

+1.

Harvey wasn’t entirely sure what to call their relationship. They weren’t really dating, but it wasn’t meaningless sex either. Friends-with-benefits probably came the closest, but even that didn’t quite fit. Whatever it was, it seemed to be working out alright.

Yesterday had been Friday. Mike had come home with him yesterday. This was normal; Mike usually came over on Friday nights.

What was unusual was to find him still in the apartment when Harvey got up the next morning. Mike normally woke early, got dressed, and left a mug of coffee on Harvey’s bedside table and a grinning kiss on his forehead in thanks and goodbye before going home. Mike did _not_ normally put on a pair of Harvey’s sleep pants (which Harvey found he didn’t really mind) and flop out on the couch to watch TV.  

None of this was a problem. Harvey was more than fine with all of these circumstances…except for whatever was currently gracing his TV screen.

Harvey moved to stand behind Mike’s spot on the sofa, watching in morbid curiosity as what looked to be an animated blue jay and raccoon ran in panic across the screen, chased by…Harvey didn’t even know. Stray video game graphics, or something. What the hell was his associate watching?

“What the hell are you watching?”

Mike tilted his head back to look at Harvey upside-down. He grinned. “Regular Show.”

Harvey blinked at him and they watched in silence for a couple minutes.

“Mike, this has to be the most retarded thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched _The Matrix Revolutions_.”

The younger man snorted. “This show is awesome. You just don’t understand it because it’s a different kind of pop culture.”

He flopped his head back to look at Harvey again, his grin carrying that impish quirk. “Or maybe it’s just because you’re old.”

Harvey glowered at him. “Say that again. I dare you.” But Mike only laughed and returned to the nonsensical adventures of Mordecai and Rigby. Harvey hovered behind the couch for another minute before deciding that standing when it was this early was overrated, and settled next to Mike.

“Mike, honestly, you’d have to be on acid to understand this. It makes _no sense_.”

Mike hummed noncommittally in response.

“…Is that guy a gumball machine?”

“Yep. And the white gorilla is Luke Skywalker.”

Harvey stared at Mike. Mike didn’t look away from the screen. So Harvey lunged.

Mike let out a startled yelp at his sudden lap-full of Harvey as the older man made a grab for the TV remote. Mike leaned sideways, snatched it, and flung it further down the couch, out of Harvey’s reach. They grappled briefly, Harvey still trying to reach the controller, and Mike trying to wriggle out from underneath him.

“Just because my show is too awesome for your dated tastes-“

“Finish that sentence at your own risk, rookie.”

Mike broke off into desperate, breathless giggles as Harvey’s fingers found the ticklish spot beneath his ribs. He thrashed, finally managing to get free and darted to the other side of the couch, clutching the remote to his chest and looking smug.

…Right before Harvey nailed him in the face with one of the throw pillows. Mike gawped at him for a second before a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

The situation devolved swiftly after that.

Not much attention was given to the remote.

Not much attention was given to what was on the TV either.

**Author's Note:**

> So I have an AO3 now~ Hello to anyone who's already seen this, thanks for rereading, and hi to others who hadn't. <3 Just a bit of silliness, because these two beg for it. Srsly. Also, because Mike strikes me as the type of person who would totally listen to TMBG and watch Regular Show and then go around quoting them at everyone. Also also, the song Mike is singing in #2 is [this one](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqJXxHi6RwQ). Now it can be stuck in your heads too. Muhahahahaha.


End file.
